The Real Buffy
by Troll Princess
Summary: Based on a spoiler I heard, so consider yourself forewarned. Spike gets a surprise. S\B.


[][1]

  
**Author's note: This story is based on a spoiler that's on "Ain't It Cool News." It's short, sweet, and hopefully -- Goddess willing -- 100% true. This is supposedly in "Intervention," so if you don't want to be spoiled for the next two episodes, consider yourself warned.**

* * *

**The Real Buffy**   
by Troll Princess

  


* * *

  
  


"Are we there yet?"   
  


"No."   
  


"Well, are we there now?"   
  


"No."   
  


Buffy glanced over at Giles, who was getting more and more exasperated with every passing moment, and frowned. Here they all were, heading to Glory's to rescue Spike and lugging an obscene amount of weaponry, and all she wanted to know was how much longer it was going to be. If they got there too late, Spike would be DustBuster food, and she just couldn't let that happen.   
  


Frowning, she hiked the canvas bag she was carrying higher up on her shoulder. "You'd think we would have been there sooner," she said, examining her fingernails as she walked.   
  


Not far ahead of her, the real Buffy turned to an embarrassed Xander and Anya and said, "I can't believe you thought she was me."   
  


* * *

  
  


Ow.   
  


Just ... ow.   
  


To say Spike was in pain would be like saying he looked just a little messed up, when in fact, he looked as if he'd shoved out an air conditioning vent (with the vent part still on) and felt like he'd been run over by the Concorde.   
  


Bloody, _bloody_ hell.   
  


He'd stumbled back to the crypt not long ago, which was a miracle in itself because his eyes were so swollen he couldn't even see light. The sense of smell had come in more handy then it ever had on the way back to the crypt, blindly groping at everything in his path. Let's just say he narrowly avoided a few people who would not have enjoyed the groping aspect of blindness.   
  


That Glory bitch was going to get hers. Oh, yeah.   
  


Not that he was going to do it. Well, he'd help, of course. Stand at Buffy's side and be all manly and whatnot. As much as he wanted to deny it, if Buffy was in trouble, he was going to be there.   
  


Hell ... if he'd known three years earlier that one day, he'd be thinking that last thing in a non trouble-making capacity, he probably would have staked himself.   
  


Oh ... _God_, he needed ice. For his head, and his drink.   
  


* * *

  
  


The place was deserted. And a disaster area.   
  


Glory and her little oozing troll brigade had obviously made a run for it. It looked as if half the stuff in this place had been swiped, and the rest had been so heavy they hadn't bothered lugging it out. Not to mention the rumpled bed and the battered shackles lying on it.   
  


"She's gone," the 'Bot said, terribly disappointed. Buffy couldn't be sure if it was because she was itching for a fight, too, or merely because of Spike. She was guessing the latter.   
  


Anya dropped her bag of supplies on the ground and smiled weakly. "Will everyone forgive me if that makes me really, really happy?"   
  


Willow wandered over to the bedside and picked up the shackles. "Looks like Spike's gone, too."   
  


Bad move. The BuffyBot immediately began to blubber. "Oh, my God, she killed him! My poor baby!"   
  


Buffy rolled her eyes and turned away. She wasn't really that bad with her boyfriends ... was she?   
  


"No, there's no dust in the room," Giles said, looking around. "And I don't think she would have taken him with her if she were going to run." He tried to say it as gently as possible, but the 'Bot got it anyways and started to sniffle.   
  


"I don't think so, either," Buffy added.   
  


Xander groaned and stared down Buffy and Giles. "Okay, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but why?"   
  


Buffy's hazel-eyed gaze connected with his as she said, "Because Glory's got a long list of friends of mine she can torture."   
  


Willow and Tara looked absolutely petrified. Anya, as usual, grabbed onto Xander. And Xander ... well, Xander was himself. As usual. "Oh, wonderful. Finally, I'm popular."   
  


Buffy turned to Giles as she looked around herself. He was right. No vamp dust anywhere. And it was a pretty safe bet the minions would not have paused in their disappearing act to sweep the floor and wash the linens. "So, what? You think she let him go?"   
  


"No, I'm betting he escaped. Don't know how, but it sounds about right."   
  


"So, then, where is he?"   
  


* * *

  
  


Spike needed to get extraordinarily drunk.   
  


Everything hurt. Of course, that had been Glory's mission, and she'd succeeded admirably. Spike was fairly sure there were some internal organs he hadn't used in ages that were bawling in agony right about now.   
  


He hadn't expected to be kidnapped by Glory. After all, in the grand scheme of goody-goodies, he was just a minion. If she was looking for her bloody Key, you'd think she would have grabbed someone she was sure knew about it -- Buffy.   
  


But, no. He'd been hustled off to face the goddess by her little gang of green groupies. Luckily, they'd done it in front of that twit, Xander. So it was a pretty safe bet Buffy had been on the way to Glory's to ... well, not retrieve him. Stop him from spilling his guts -- literally, he thought wryly -- about the nibblet.   
  


Xander had been saying something about Buffy acting strangely. With Spike. Kissing him. Which meant he'd run into the 'Bot. And sooner or later -- though probably sooner -- they were going to realize what he'd done.   
  


Aw, bloody hell.   
  


He'd been desperate, he had. Insane with ... oh, God, he didn't know. When he'd gone all I-love-you on her and she'd tossed him aside like rubbish, that part of him that was still William had broken down. Stupid git. So much of him was still that loser that he'd had his heart broken. Again.   
  


Anyone who said vampires couldn't love because they didn't have souls was an idiot.   
  


Damn, he needed another drink. Too bad he couldn't see the bottle.   
  


There was a rustling on the other side of the crypt, and the door opened with its requisite creak. Ah, the robot of the house must be home.   
  


At least, Spike hoped so. It'd better not be those bastard minions again ... he just wasn't up for a fight. Or a struggle. Or even a slight wriggle, at this point.   
  


Her sweet voice carried throughout the crypt. "Spike, you're all right." She sounded different, and she hadn't leapt at him for a hug like he'd been guessing she'd do if he were hurt. She hadn't gotten broken following the bloody Scoobies, had she?   
  


"You all right, love?" he asked.   
  


He could have sworn she nodded, not that he could see her to be sure. "Glory's minions hurt me."   
  


He shrugged, not really caring about being nice to her at this point. "You'll live."   
  


"They hurt you, too."   
  


"Master of the bloody obvious, aren't you?" It wasn't a malicious as it came off, but right now, what he wanted wasn't nuts and bolts and plastic on metal. He wanted flesh and bone, and blond hair washed with strawberry shampoo, and the steady pound of the Slayer's heartbeat.   
  


Bloody hell, now he was imagining it. Maybe it was the last of that bottle of Advil that making him hallucinate. Well, that, and the J.D.   
  


She moved closer, slowly but surely. She must really be hurt. "What happened, baby?"   
  


She seemed to have a hard time calling him "baby," but Spike ignored it. Probably leaking bloody windshield wiper fluid or something. "Nothing. She took me, she chained me, and she asked me where the Key was."   
  


"And you told her."   
  


"Are you daft? I called her the god of bad home perms and made a run for the hills before she could call me on mine."   
  


He was expecting her to laugh at that one, but the 'Bot was deadly serious as she asked, "Why didn't you just tell Glory what she wants to know?"   
  


Why hadn't he ... oh, God.   
  


He supposed he could have, when Glory repeatedly asked him where her stupid Key was, told her the truth. _Your Key is a fourteen-year-old girl, cute little nibblet, sweet and all, should be on the other side of town in the junior high._ He could have, but he couldn't do that to --   
  


**Buffy**   
  


-- Dawn. She was innocent. She had nothing to do with this Glory chippy other than being exactly the thing she was looking for. And that wasn't her fault. And Spike was fairly sure that whatever Glory wanted with the nibblet was not going to involve tea and biscuits, and he liked the little slip of a girl, regardless of how she felt about him at the moment. If something happened to her, it would break his --   
  


**Buffy's**   
  


-- heart.   
  


Oh, bloody hell. Just admit it, you stupid git.   
  


"Because I can't do that to Buffy," he said. Then, under his breath, he added, "The real Buffy."   
  


He knew she was coming towards him, heard her shuffling steps as she moved towards the chair he sat in. She must have gone to the Slayer, after all. She carried the scent of the vanilla body lotion and raspberry spray the real Buffy always smelled of. He'd forbidden the 'Bot from wearing it -- didn't want to delude himself. He was pathetic, after all, not insane.   
  


She bent over him, her warmth spreading over him from head to toe like a heavy quilt. A moment later, her lips descended on his. Her kiss was sweet, delicate and far too brief. He'd never wanted her to kiss him deeper so much since he'd gotten her from Warren.   
  


She pulled back at the same time he did, brushing her fingertips over his cheek, and he swallowed audibly. He had to.   
  


With as much courage as he could muster, he said, far too calmly considering what he had realized, "What did you do with my robot?"   
  


In the darkness his swollen eyes allowed him, Buffy's heartbeat, steady and strong, rang out like a beacon.   
  


Oh, God.   
  


Buffy had kissed him. The real Buffy. On purpose. Bloody hell, Red had messed up another spell, hadn't she?   
  


With all the strength he knew she had in her, she leaned over him and said, "The robot is gone."   
  


Oh.   
  


"The robot is gross."   
  


Well, he wasn't about to argue that one, and had the decency to look thoroughly embarassed.   
  


"Don't do it again."   
  


Spike shook his head. If what he thought was happening was happening, he definitely wouldn't be needing a 'Bot anytime soon. Or -- aw, hell, you stupid git, go on and be hopeful -- never again.   
  


"And thank you."   
  


Thank you. Buffy said thank you. To _him_   
  


He reached out to touch her, his hands resting on her waist. He had to touch her, make sure the combo of liquor and pain medication wasn't making him hallucinate.   
  


Nope, she was real. Warm, and very, very real.   
  


She kissed him again, this time deeper, the way he'd wanted, and Spike was suddenly glad he was sitting. God only knew his knees wouldn't have been able to hold him up anyway ... with Buffy kissing him like this, he probably would have turned into a quivering puddle of goo.   
  


She pulled back again, this time not so far, and said, "You did a good thing, Spike. You know that?"   
  


He smiled, and barely managed to say, "I can do better."   
  


And the strange thing was, he actually wanted to. (And not in the sexual way the statement implied. Although ...)   
  


The Spike part of him, the serial-killing bloodthirsty bastard who spent the better part of a hundred years killing and maiming, rolled his eyes and said, _Well, damn it, Spike, first you're neutered and now you're a goody-goody. Or at least trying to be. How revolting._   
  


But the William part, that good, decent man that was still in there, at least a little bit, heard what Spike said and just smiled.   
  


_Prove it_, he dared Spike.   
  


Well, he'd never been one to turn down a dare. Prove it, it was. 

   [1]: 



End file.
